Spanish Tragedy
by DebC75
Summary: Vachon reveals his life story


*** Your Title Here *** Disclaimers: I wanted to write a story about Vachon's life before he   
became a vampire. In it, I hoped to capture the feeling of the   
intensity that *is* Vachon. So, I asked myself, "What pain could he be   
hiding behind those ragged curls?" The answer shaped itself itno this   
story. For choosing Vachon's birthdate, the Pizzaro stuff, etc, I used   
"The American People's Encyclopedia." It was an aniquated edition   
(1960-something) but I figure the dates won't be far off. 

Thanks to my beta reader, Rae, who did a fine job of making sure I got   
things within the realm of canon. 

Special permission for this to be archived at http://www.fkfanfic.com.   
All others wishing to archive must ask me. It will also be appearing at   
my fanfic page, located at this address:   
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Rampart/1958/myfanfic.html 

Oh! I almost forgot-- Vachon, Tracy and FK are not mine, and I do not   
stand to profit from this in anyway. 

A Spanish Tragedy   
by Fleurette 

Candlelight flickered in the depths of the abandoned church. Had there   
been any passers-by on the street that night, they might have noticed   
the slight glow through dusty stained glass. But there was no one save   
the two occupants of the candle-lit room, and they were too engrossed in   
their own doings to notice the world around them. As one of them   
settled into a comfortable position upon the floor, the other began to   
speak, pacing the floor in a slow, tireless manner. Every so often he   
would pause, sipping dark liquid from a glass. 

"I was born in Madrid, in the year 1505. My given name was Javier   
Carlos Diego Valdez. My mother was Anna Teresa, she worked as a serving   
girl in her father's tavern. He--my grandfather--used to make fun of my   
name. 'Such a big name for so small a boy,' he would say. He would say   
other things--things I never understood. I don't think grandfather   
liked me very much. I was another mouth to feed. I used to think he   
would he would be happier if I had died. Do you know what that's like?" 

Silence. 

"I didn't think so. I figure you had a pretty good family life--Mommy,   
Daddy and their little girl. People value their children more these   
days, I think. My father? Oh... I *knew* him, to be sure. Everyone   
knew my father. He was the son of a merchant. His   
father became rich with the spice trade. My father inherited his money   
at a young age; he was younger than you are now. My mother used to talk   
about him. She would tell stories about how they used to sneak off to   
meet each other in the fountain in the town square.   
Her eyes would glaze over and I think she thought day-dreaming would   
bring him back to her. Until I was ten, I thought my father was a   
powerful prince who would come to save us from our wretchedness. I   
don't think he knew I existed." 

Pause, accompanied by the in-take of a sharp breath. 

"What happened when I was ten? Nothing of particular consequence. It   
was my birthday. Mother had made me a new shirt. It was special.   
She'd saved her coins for an entire year to buy the most expensive cloth   
she could afford. It was blue. Blue used to be my favorite. Mother   
said I could wear it for that day and then only on Church days after   
that. I wore it when I to the market. But, you know what? I'll never   
forget that birthday--not ever. That was the day I discovered that my   
brothers hated me." 

Pause. 

"No. My mother did not have more sons. They were... my father's   
heirs. I was younger than the oldest one by only two months. I know   
what you're think, but times were different then. It didn't matter   
where a wealthy spent his nights. These were his 'real' sons. I didn't   
exist to him. I think they knew, though--my *brothers.* They used to   
go to the market place with their governess each day. They were   
spoiled from the wealth. I think their mother, Luisa Maria, could not   
stand to be near them much. I know I could not." 

Pause. 

"Will you let me tell you why? I was getting to those details! If you   
want me to tell you, then you must let me do it in my own way." 

Pause. 

"Okay. I accept your apology. I m sorry, too. I didn t mean to snap   
at you. Where was I? Oh, yeah... my brothers. When they began coming   
to the market, rumors began to fly. People said I looked Diego-- the   
elder. I tried to ignore the rumors, but they would not let me. They   
knew, I am sure, that their father was my father. We *did* look alike,   
Diego and I. It was then that I knew they hated me. They would chase   
me and beat me. I was small in those days. When they grew old enough   
to carry swords, they would chase me with those, as well. I can still   
feel, sometimes, the terror of running and running and knowing that   
deadly steel is close behind me. Why did I run? I had no sword. What   
good would a handful of rocks and pebbles do against a sword? One time,   
I tripped on a loose cobblestone in the street. Juan, the younger,   
stuck me with his sword. It..." 

A hand strays to a spot on the leg where the wound was sustained, as if   
remembering the feel of the now rusted sword point. A smaller hand   
covers it. 

"It hurt, but not pain like you think. It wasn't my leg that hurt   
me;my heart hurt with the pain of having two brothers I could not be   
equals with and a father who would never love me." 

Pause. 

"I'm not going to cry, so take away that tissue. I'm too far removed   
from it now for tears." 

Pause. 

"When we were "of age," they finally managed to get rid of me. Diego   
did it. I was in the square, sitting with a girl I thought I loved. I   
had been working in the stable of   
my grandfather's tavern. I saved gold, when I got it, and put it aside.   
I waited for a day that I could ask her father for permission to marry   
her. Her name was Isabella. Everyone just called her Bella. Diego saw   
us and decided that he wanted to take her from me. For   
weeks we fought over her, wrestling in the streets like dogs. One day,   
he comes to me alone and throws his coin pouch in my face. It was   
velvet--soft-- and full of money. My father's crest was embroidered   
upon it. Diego told me that my father wanted to meet me   
and accept me as his son. He said to come to the servants door of the   
great house and show the guard the pouch. 'They have orders to let you   
in,' he said." 

Pause. 

"It was the day I had always dreamed about--my father wanting me. When   
I went to the great house, however, I was arrested. Diego told father   
that I was a thief who had stolen his pouch in the market. In those   
days, stealing gold from a wealthy man's son had two punishments--death   
or the army, which was essentially for most people anyway. You know   
which one I chose. As I left, Diego told me to never return to Madrid,   
unless I returned dead. That was the last I saw of him before I went to   
the New World with Pizzaro." 

Pause. 

"Did I ever go back? Of course, I did, eventually. As a vampire, I   
spent three years in the New World before sailing back to Europe. I   
went straight to Spain. Grandfather had died. Mother, too. They both   
caught something that was going around, as you would say. Whatever it   
was, it killed them. The tavern was gone. It burnt down. That wasn't   
the worst of it, though. After learning that my mother was dead, I was   
determined to tell my father the truth." 

Pause. 

"I don't know why. I was a vampire. It shouldn't have mattered, but   
it did to me at the time. I went the great house. It had gotten   
greater while I was gone. It was there I saw my Bella for the first   
time since I was arrested. She was pregnant... and married to Diego.   
Seeing her swollen with his offspring cut through me in a way Juan's   
sword never could. I truly hated my brothers now, with all of my   
being." 

Pause. 

"I started watching them, making my presence felt like ghostly specter   
in the night. One night, Diego and Juan had gone to a play at the   
theater. It was a bawdy, pathetic excuse for drama, but I went anyway.   
They met two prostitutes there and throughout the play, Diego carried on   
with one of them. Like father like son, I guess. It   
made me ever more angry with him, though. I couldn't let him hurt   
Isabella the same Father hurt my mother." 

Pause. 

"What do mean, what did I do? What do you think I did? I followed   
them out of the theater and confronted them in a dark corner street. We   
were all alone--just us three brothers. They recognized me, and Diego   
drew his sword. Except this time, I was stronger than he was...   
stronger than both of them. I killed them both, and took pleasure in   
crushing their bones when I had drained them. It made me feel good to   
break their bodies as they had broken my spirit years before." 

Pause. 

"I left Madrid after that, and I have never felt the need to return   
there. Sometimes... sometimes, I still wonder if things could not have   
been different... if my father could have loved me and if my brothers   
could have been real brothers, instead of enemies." 

Pause. 

"Here. Take a look at this. I don't carry many reminders of my past   
lives--only this locket. That's Isabella. She gave this to me when I   
left for the army. She said she would always love me. I've carried it   
near my heart for all the long, lonely years without her." 

Pause. 

"Why are you crying? You promised not to cry if I told you. Come   
here, Tracy. I want to hold you." 

Silence.   


* * *

  
  



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